


Ten Years in the Making

by sensitiser



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Auror Harry Potter, Hate to Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Harry, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, and probaby therapy, both draco and harry need a hug, it's juuuuust a little cruuuuush, there will be smut eventually but the first few chapters are set in hogwarts where they are CHILDREN, well underage at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28407840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensitiser/pseuds/sensitiser
Summary: An incident at Hogwards leads Draco to realise that he is desperately, gaspingly, embarrassingly besotted with Harry Potter.  But it's cool. He has it under control.Ok, maybe not. But the '15 ways to seduce any man' torn out from Pansy's Witch Weekly will definitely work, right? After all, what's the worst that could happen?Lots of fluff and pining and unrequited love. First few chapters are set in Hogwarts and then time jumps to the Ministry.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (briefly mentioned)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Ten Years in the Making

**Author's Note:**

> This plauge has inspired me to write fanfiction. I feel like I'd be showing my age by writing a disclaimer here, so this is all you'll get! x

Draco was not having a good day. It had started pretty well with some languorous dreams involving him and a mysterious dark haired man, which had been exceedingly enjoyable. But then he’d woken up late and had to skip breakfast to make potions on time, where Vince had managed to melt the bottom of his - very expensive - cauldron with what was meant to be a simple pain relieving draught. Of course the concoction had spilt all over his robes, trousers and new dragon hide shoes, and Draco was promptly packed off to the hospital wing where Madame Pomfrey, tutting, carefully cleaned him up and administered proper pain relief. She couldn’t save the shoes. It was hours before he was allowed to leave, and Draco had missed a free period and lunch. In fact, it was now 3:00pm and well into double arithmancy. 

_‘No point in going now’_ thought Draco as he hurried down the corridor. _‘Best head down to the kitchens and then maybe the prefects’ bathroom before finishing off that charms essay’_. Walking quickly, head full of the mundanities of school life, Draco rounded a corner and collided with someone who was standing in the middle of the hallway. 

Draco, immediately furious, looked up at who he’d walked into. And, oh, perfect. As if this day could not get any worse. Potter was in front of him, stock still and simultaneously white with terror and looking just as angry as Draco. “What the fuck, Potter?” spat Draco. He opened his mouth again to say something probably devastatingly witty, about Potter’s scar, or his friends, or his lack of general magical ability, but the words died in his throat. For when he tried to step back to get more than six inches of space between them, he found that his feet were firmly rooted to the spot. Potter had his eyes fixed on the wall behind Draco’s head, mouth set in a grim line and starting to look faintly sick. Draco, frustrated at this turn of events and the lack of response, repeated his question. “Potter! What the fuck! I thought you’d given up stalking me but really, luing me into...”

“Romilda Vane.” 

The name was spat out with a level of disgust normally reserved for ‘bubotuber pus’ or ‘blast ended skrewt babies’, and Draco blinked - anger momentarily giving way to confusion. “Sorry, what? Yes, I can name people too. Hannah Abbot. Susan Bones, Astoria Gree-”

“No!” Potter cut him off, wide eyes meeting Draco’s for the first time in this whole bizarre incident. Draco was momentarily struck by how green they were, and the distinct notion that they weren’t just angry, but strangely panicked. “Romilda Vane did... that.” Potter nodded up at the ceiling, where Draco, to his horror, could see a large sprig of mistletoe. 

“Oh. Right.” The back of Draco’s neck prickled oddly and he felt cold all over.

“Yep.” snorted Harry, relaxing slightly from his defensive posture but no less angry. “She’s been trying to slip me a love potion for weeks, but when that didn’t work, well.” He shrugged, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’ve been stuck here for about twenty minutes. She nearly got me too - I could hear her calling from around the corner, telling me how it’s a Weasley Wizarding Wheezes product so can’t be spelled away. The only way to break free is - oh, fucking Romilda. I’ve rejected her-”

Draco nearly laughed out loud. "You're telling me that you've been caught by a schoolgirl! And like a swooning witch, the only way to free you is with a kiss?" Bu as he spoke the words, he realised the implications of the prank. "Merlin Potter, just incendio the damned thing and be done with it. Here, if you're not capable I'll do it now." He pulled out his wand and aimed a spell up a the mistletoe, which hit. The plant burst into flame briefly, before the flames vanished and it seemed to grow a little bigger. 

"Satisfied?" snarled Harry. "Now if you want to wait for Dumbledore or McGonagall to come and free us that's fine. If you want all of Hogwarts to see that, it's fine with me. I know I'd rather swim naked in the black lake than-"

It was Draco’s turn to interrupt Potter, breaking him off with a sigh and raising his hand imperiously. “I am tired. I am hungry. I just want to have something to eat and finish my charms essay. Unfortunately, I am here, with you. Do I really believe the one who defeated the dark lord would be so stupid as to be caught by this? Potentially. Do I believe you’re so lacking in brains to make up a more convincing spirit? Maybe it’s just Christmas spirit .Who knows. But at the moment I simply do not care whether this was a carefully constructed ploy to engineer enough wanking material for the rest of your life, so long as you do me the courtesy of obliviating me afterwards.”

Draco’s heart was beating very fast, and he felt as though it could burst out of his chest at any moment. There was something indescribable at the back of his mind jumping up and down at the thought of what was about to happen, but he was distracted enough to ignore it. He was also ingoring the idea of a naked Potter swimming around in the black lake, although not very well. 

Potter’s eyes narrowed. “What, Malfoy - you think I want this?”

Draco snorted in return. “Well from where I’m standing it certainly looks that way. But you’re probably too much of a noble Gryffindor to do such a thing.” He laughed derisively, although the look of disgust on Potter’s face made it come out weak and hollow. Draco took a moment to reassure himself that Potter could not know about those secret, shameful fantasies of last night before rallying himself. “Look, just close your eyes and think of Dumbledore. Pretend I’m the Weaselette if you have to!” 

And before Potter could respond, Draco had darted forwards and lightly brushed their lips together. Potter said nothing but gaped fish-like as he stared at Draco, flushed with anger and effrontery. Draco would have paused to mock again - maybe something about ‘first kisses’ and ‘inexperience’ - had he not been busy trying to move, to no avail. 

“Oh for-” he began, before being cut off yet again as two hands fisted themselves in the front of his pressed white shirt and yanked him forwards where he crashed into a pair of lips. Draco’s eyes flew open before slowly fluttering closed as he allowed himself to melt into the kiss. It wasn’t the most passionate he’d ever had, but Potter’s lips were a soft, warm, slightly damp pressure and Draco found himself responding in kind, curiously unwilling to end the moment. His lips softly parted and Potter’s tongue gently probed his mouth. Draco was aware of Potter’s hands, now limply clenched in his shirt, and brought his own up to cover them. He could hear Potter’s breathing and the blood pounding in his head, and not much else apart from the odd faint smacking sound of their kiss. 

And then they were startled out of their reverie by a loud bell, indicating five minutes until the next class. They broke away and Draco flushed as he gasped for breath, stumbling back as his fee suddenly unstuck. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, uncharacteristically lost for words, only looking up at Potter’s soft laugh. 

“Nice slippers, Malfoy.” 

Draco blinked, the words slowly percolating into his brain. He looked down, registering the hideous fluffy hippogriff slippers Madame Pomfrey had given him after his own shoes were destroyed. He took a few long moments to think of something to say, thoughts slowed by both the kiss and the various potions given to him in the hospital wing. But by the time he looked up, ready to retort, Potter had melted away into the now milling students. Just as well really; it hadn't been a very good comeback.

* * *

Food had happened. The charms essay had not. Draco had spent a few hours stretched out on a plush velvet sofa in the Slytherin common room, Pansy stroking his hair (quite nice) and cooing (pretty annoying). He went up to bed early, even though it was a Friday and his classmates were staying up, drinking butterbeer and firewhiskey swiped from the kitchens. He debated briefly telling them all about what had happened that afternoon but something stopped him short. He didn’t much fancy exploring why - the threat of being made fun of himself perhaps, or the thought of what Potter and co would do to him if it - pun not intended - came out. 

The night passed without incident; Draco slept like the dead thanks to a sleeping draught he’d begged from Madame Pomfrey, and come morning he sprang out of bed ignoring the hungover groans coming from his housemates at his clattering about. He went up to breakfast alone, helping himself to a large plate of toast with scrambled eggs and a steaming mug of coffee with two sugars. He was ostensibly reading The Daily Prophet, but his eyes darted up every few seconds to see who had entered the Great Hall. The instant the golden trio entered, however, his eyes snapped down as if he was suddenly particularly interested in the article on changes to the Gringotts’ board of directors. He counted forty seconds before changing a glance towards the Gryffindor table. Not only was Potter not looking at him, but his back was to the Slytherin table! Draco could see his shoulders shaking as he laughed at something one of the others said. No one was staring at him at least, so he knew the mistletoe incident remained a secret for now. 

_‘Ugh, why does Potter insist on wearing those awful muggle clothes’_ thought Draco, staring fixedly at Potter’s back and definitely not thinking about the way the light blue cotton clung to strong back and arm muscles, honed from hours of quidditch. Drago was just about to return to his now lukewarm breakfast when he noticed Weasley staring at him with an odd, although definitely hostile expression. Draco greeted him with a rude hand gesture, which Weasley returned, causing Granger to roll her eyes and stare at Draco with thinly veiled loathing. But then, oh the shame of it, Potter turned just as Draco was busying himself with a large forkful of eggs. He instantly flushed red as their eyes met, even across the expanse of tables, causing him to miss his mouth with the fork and fling the eggs behind him. Harry raised his eyebrows and then turned back, leaving Draco, more embarrassed than he could ever remember being, to flee to the common room.

* * *

The next week passed without incident. Draco busied himself with studying and quidditch, and there was a general feeling of excitement around the castle that soon it would be time for the holidays. The next trouble for Draco came before the last quidditch match of the autumn stern - Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw. He had sauntered up to the Gryffindor table, on his way to bait Weasley before the game; if Gryffindor won then Slytherin could only come second, but if they lost then Draco was in with a chance to take the cup home. 

“Piss off Malfoy.” Said Weasley as Draco approached. 

“Now now Weasley, what would your mother say about that sort of language? Howlers don’t cost anything, as evident by the number she manages to send here every week, and I doubt you’d want to risk yet another.”

“Go fuck yourself” snapped Ron, the effect somewhat ruined by the greenish pallow of his face. Draco smirked; this was too easy.

“What a comeback! Truly astounding! I didn’t know you were really this far back in the queue when brains were handed out, but why even Longbottom could think of a better...” 

But the response died on his lips. He had been ignoring Potter who was sitting next to Weasley with an increasingly furious look on his face - not unlike the one he’d worn when trapped under the mistletoe. Granger must have said something to him however, as he was letting Weasley argue with Draco by himself. No, what stopped Draco in his tracks was that Weaslette had just come up to Potter with a whispered ‘good luck!’. As Potter turned to thank her, she captured his lips in a kiss far too intense for the breakfast table. Potter’s hands came up to cradle her face and her fingers slid into his hair; Draco was momentarily struck by wondering how it would feel running through his own fingers. After some time fellow Gryffindors started whooping and wolf whistling and the pair broke apart. Potter, his face flushed - which only served to make his eyes look greener, Draco noted bitterly - grinned at his girlfriend. 

“Jealous?” Snorted Weasley, snapping Draco from where he was still staring. 

“Why would I be jealous of a filthy blood traitor like her?” snarled Draco, spinning on his heel and storming off without waiting for a response, which was shouted after him anyway. He realised too late that he’d defended himself against wanting to kiss Potter, a revelation which caused him to angrily kick the stone dormitory wall and nearly break his toes. 

Draco didn’t attend the match that day. Gryffindor won by 60 points.

* * *

Christmas came and went, and between the family and presents and general change of scene, Draco nearly forgot about the mistletoe incident. Sure, the dreams had increased in both frequency and intensity - but the lithe, dark haired protagonist was hardly new. He chose to ignore the green eyes, and the pathetic feeling of rejection that came over him in waves after waking up. Potter had probably set out to seduce him; Draco told himself. He didn’t believe a word of this Romilda Vane rubbish either, and was sure he was feeling the impact of a leftover love spell, and would seek out an antidote when next in Diagon Alley. Deep in his heart he knew that the Gryffindor would never do such a thing, but Draco chose to quash that thought, focusing instead on quite literally anything else. 

He was halfway through a NEWT-level book on options one morning - gifted to him by Snape a few days prior - when his mother, sitting across from him at the table stood up suddenly, throwing her copy of The Daily Prophet down and declaring that she was popping out for a walk and would be back early that afternoon. Draco murmured his acknowledgement, barely looking up from the paragraph on Ayurvedic brewing methods. When his mother came over to press a light kiss to his head, however, he glanced up and his eyes alighted on the newspaper so carelessly discarded before him.

**_HARRY POTTER - LOVE RAT? BRAVE STUDENTS SPILL ALL_ **

_An anonymous Gryffindor student speaks exclusively to The Prophet. Harry ‘Heartbreaker’ Potter as he is better known in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts has, sources have revealed, slept his way around his own house of Gryffindor and is now bent on seducing the rest of the student population - and not just the ladies, we are led to believe. Another student, whose name also cannot be revealed, spoke out about her treatment at the hands of the so called chosen one: ‘clearly defeating you-know-who isn’t enough. Harry is some sort of maniac! A sex maniac!’_

Draco’s eyes skittered over the article, which proudly proclaimed to be ‘continued on page 5’ with ‘racy tell all accounts of after dark trysts in the forbidden forest’. His eyes were mainly drawn to the large photo they’d included on the front page; evidently the editors had decided that the main story about European wizarding treaties wasn’t deserving of a picture. In it, Potter was turned towards the photographer, brow furrowed and face clearly flushed despite the monochrome. He was shouting and seemed to be groping in his pocket for his wand, despite obviously not being able to do underage magic let alone defensive spells. Draco tried to convince himself the sudden rolling feeling in the pit of his stomach was general distaste at seeing Potter during his holidays. The overwhelming age to reach through the paper and smooth out the lines of his forehead was harder to explain away. And when his mouth became suddenly dry as he noticed Potter was wearing that damned muggle t-shirt again - it clung to his biceps, and how had he never noticed those before? Looking at the flashing eyes - and yes, he could imagine the exact shade of verdant green without even closing his eyes - he was confronted not for the first time with the aching memory of that kiss. Draco closed his eyes slowly and exhaled hard through his mouth, but if anything that intensified the recollection and his fingers subconsciously came up to brush against his lips. He’d been lying to himself for weeks; he was very attracted to Harry Potter.

* * *

Many hours passed. Draco, unable to concentrate on anything else, had read the article twice. Nonsense of course; the bitter ramblings of spurned schoolgirls, egged on by Rita Skeeter or one of her proteges It was fine, he told himself. He’d fancied people before and it did pass. He’d just have to speak to Potter to remind himself of what an arse he was, and all desire would vanish in a moment. Maybe he’d make the effort to go into Diagon Alley or even Hogsmeade before school began and bed someone, too. He hadn’t done so for months, which he was sure was exacerbating this unfortunate Potter attraction. 

Feeling a lot brighter all of a sudden he emerged from his rooms and headed downstairs, ready to go for a quick fly and banish the last of Potter from his head. After a stop at the cupboard to retrieve his broomstick, he opened the front door to reveal his mother, returned from her walk. She smiled up at him, reaching forward to place a cold hand on his warm cheek. 

“Oh Draco, it is so good to see you going out to fly. You haven’t been yourself this holiday and I was a little concerned.” 

Draco shifted guiltily, reaching up to move the hand from his reddening face. “Nothing to worry about mother, I assure you. Just schoolwork stress, and a slight lingering headache.” 

Narcissa didn’t look entirely convinced but she smiled nonetheless, brushing some invisible dust from Draco’s shoulders. “I haven’t seen you like this for years - not since that Potter boy got on the quidditch team when you were in first year.”

Draco flinched slightly, that particular injustice still stinging even years later. However, he rallied quickly and positively beamed. “I can promise you, I have no intention of ever thinking about Potter again.”


End file.
